His laugh followed her all the way to the edge of the beach, where she stepped onto the cobblestones. She savored the sound, inviting a stirring into her heart, a radiating warmth that would not leave her as she walked toward home. She told herself over and over as she walked, that his every word and action were false, but it did little to stop the feelings within her. Two words challenged it all. What if.
What if Edward really did care for her?
What if he meant the things he said?
What if he could love her?
With her eyes focused on the path in front of her, and her mind in a distant place, she failed to notice the swishing of orange skirts that approached her from behind.
“Miss Grace, is it?” A high-pitched voice said. “Grace Weston?”
Grace turned to her left, jerked from her musing by the round eyes of Miss Darby, holding a purring cat in her arms. Although similar in age and proportion to Grace, the two shared several differences. Miss Darby had blonde, tightly curled hair, with striking blue eyes. She dressed with the obvious intent to gather attention, manifested in her choice of an orange gown trimmed in yellow ribbon. Grace did not know her well, but in the few interactions they had shared, she knew that Miss Darby adored gossip.
“May I walk with you?” Miss Darby asked.
Grace nodded, confused at the woman’s sudden interest in her. “How do you do, Miss Darby?”
“I am quite well.” Miss Darby’s voice betrayed her words as she followed Grace up the path. She clearly was not well. Her brow tightened in deep concern. “I could not help but observe that you just departed from the seaside where you shared a rather romantic moment with the future Earl of Coventry.” She stroked her cat, one eyebrow cocked.
A romantic moment? Grace had stopped him from kissing her, which burned her insides with regret. Her self-discipline was running thin of late. “You are mistaken. We are merely… acquaintances. I was there on the beach to attend to his sister. Lord Ramsbury knows I will never enter a courtship with him.”
Miss Darby brushed back the curls the wind had untethered from her hair. “I am glad to hear it. For I would hate for you to be hurt.”
“Why should I be hurt?” Grace asked.
Miss Darby sighed. “I witnessed a very similar exchange just yesterday. My dear friend Miss Reed has been receiving extensive attention from his lordship. Lord Ramsbury stood with her on the sand, right where you so recently stood…” she lowered her voice to a whisper. “and he kissed her. I thought you might like to know. I hoped to one day marry him myself, but not if he is such a cad.”
Grace’s heart sunk, a heavy stone of ache crashing to her stomach. “Are you certain it was him?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I was as distraught as you are. I never thought Miss Reed to be so improper.” Miss Darby buried her face in the fur of her cat, as if to hide her emotion. They continued to walk up the path, which had now blurred like a wet painting.
“He kissed her?” Grace’s voice was numb.
“Thoroughly,” she said, her voice muffled in her cat’s fur.
Grace walked in silence, her face and heart on fire.
Miss Darby looked up from her cat. “I am sorry to have disturbed you so greatly. I thought it right to put an end to his deceit.”
Grace looked up, blinking hard against the emotions that tore through her body, bringing tears to the back of her eyes. “Thank you,” she said in a quick voice.
Miss Darby shook her head ruefully. “Men like Lord Ramsbury are not to be trusted.”
Grace hardly heard her. Anger coiled and sprung inside her, flooding her face with heat. It was quickly replaced by pain—deep and searing—stinging in her heart and reaching out to every part of her.
How had she been such a fool?
She had let him make her feel special, if even for the briefest moment. Though she denied it, she had thought he might have been earnest. But Lord Ramsbury was as she had always suspected, a vile, shameless man who did not care for the emotions of others. He was treating Grace as a plaything while he pursued a marriage with another woman, one he knew would be foolish enough to accept him before his father’s death.
Grace took a quaking breath, fighting tears once again. Dread pounded through her, sinking and sinking until she could hardly breathe.
“I will leave you. I am sorry to have upset you so.” Miss Darby gave her an apologetic look.
Grace shook her head hard. “My heart is not broken. I never cared for that odious man. Just as he never cared for me.”
“He is a collector of hearts. I suspect he finds pleasure in breaking them.”
Grace didn’t doubt those words.
When Miss Darby turned at the bend leading to her own house, Grace finished her walk alone. She fought against her tears. Edward was not worth a single one.
He had not changed. She had so hoped he had. She steadied herself with deep breathing, moving with fast steps. The wind picked up speed, whipping against her skin and hair and dress.
When she reached her family’s property line, she tossed the Shrewsbury cakes behind her, sickened at the thought of eating them. And she ran. She ran across the overgrown grass, through the back door, and up the stairs to her bedchamber. Once the door was firmly closed, her tears flowed freely down her cheeks. What had started as her own game had been won. Edward had fooled her into believing that he could love her. That he truly wished to marry her, and her alone. That he would flirt with her, and only her, for all of his life. What a lie that had been.
She stopped in front of her looking glass, wiping angrily at her wet cheeks. She would not be fooled a third time. Never.
And if she could help it, she would never see him again.
Chapter 13
Edward arose early the next morning, breathing in the bright spring air as he walked to the gardens of Clemsworth. His mood had been elevated since the afternoon before, when he had had the privilege of seeing Grace—laughing with her and teasing her and earning a few rare smiles. Juliet had been unable to stop speaking of her for the entire evening, and at dinner, his mother had listened intently to the events of their day, eager to hear the outcome of Edward’s next proposal.
The time had come. But the idea of asking her again sent his heart racing with fear. He had never been one to doubt himself, but with the possibility of losing Grace, he was struck with terror. How could he marry any other woman now? He couldn’t. Grace Weston had irrevocably stolen his heart.
He could only guess—hope—that he had stolen hers too. He took a deep breath, straightening his cravat. The white rose bush stood in front of him, nearly in full bloom. He touched the closest bud, lifting the shears he had stolen from the groundskeeper. He began clipping, gathering a handful of roses.
Something sharp punctured his thumb. He drew a quick breath, pulling his hand back. Blood seeped from the place where a thorn had cut him. He covered the abrasion with his other hand, cradling the roses in his arm. Thankfully his jacket was thick enough to withstand them.
He returned to the house to wrap the flowers. He could not have Grace being hurt by the thorns. On his way back outside, he picked up the book of Shakespeare’s sonnets he had studied the night before. He had chosen the perfect one to share with Grace, and he was eager to see her reaction.
He had planned to make his proposal in the afternoon, but he could not wait. He would likely burst with anticipation, and fear would stop him if he waited much longer. He did not like the vulnerability Grace stirred up inside him. It terrified him.
Walking toward Weston Manor, he planned his words carefully. He could not ruin it this time. He feared it would be his last chance.
When he arrived on the part of the path that crossed behind the house, he considered turning back. He ran his hand over his hair in frustration, pacing over the cobblestones. He had never been so unsure of himself, so blasted cowardly.
Walk.
His feet obeyed, leading him around the border of the back property towa
rd the front of the house. He froze when he saw something move beneath a tree near the stables.
Grace.
She held an embroidery hoop in one hand, scowling down at the needle as she meticulously stitched. She was wrapped up in a peach shawl to keep warm under the cloudy sky. She looked nothing short of adorable.
His heart crashed in his chest, harder than seawater against the shore. He willed himself to be confident as he walked toward her, reminding himself to smile. He was glad to see her outside. His first proposal had been in the drawing room, and had not brought about the results he had wanted. He considered her presence outside to be a stroke of luck.
A ray of morning light had recently broke through the clouds, bringing out golden tones in her brown hair. He watched as she took another stitch, still oblivious to his approach. As he came closer, she glanced up. Her eyes flew open wide and her shoulders tightened.
He offered his broadest smile. “Good morning, Grace. I am pleased and not at all surprised to find you here. But I would have predicted you to be holding a book.”
She drew a deep breath, her expression guarded, bordering on angry. After the initial surprise faded, she glared at him. “Why are you here?” Her voice came out soft, broken, a contradiction to the anger in her features. She wrapped the shawl tighter around her, coming to her feet in one swift motion.
He didn’t know how he had expected her to react, but this certainly wasn’t it. He took a step closer. She had acted cold before. It was how she defended herself against his charm. Yes. That was all this was.
He laughed to dispel the unrest within him. “May I at least give you these?” He extended the bouquet of white roses, raising one eyebrow. “I know they are your favorite.”
She stared at the flowers, keeping her hands wrapped beneath her shawl, her breathing increasing in rate. She made no move to accept the flowers.
Strange.
He dropped to his knees, holding them out to her. “I know I am incorrigible and barely tolerable.” He smiled, hoping to pull one from her. “But I have lost my heart to you, Miss Grace Weston. I have come to ask if you will please reconsider the request I once made.” He breathed deeply. “I have come to ask, once again, if you will marry me.”
She remained silent, her eyes distant and guarded, her lips pressed together.
His stomach twisted. What had he done wrong this time? He felt his hope dissipating inside him. When her silence persisted, he stood, letting the flowers drop to his side.
A tear escaped from her carefully stoic expression. She wiped her cheek angrily, turning her back to him.
“Grace.” He walked around her, his heart stalling. He stared at her face, trying to puzzle out her aloofness. Her brown eyes looked anywhere but at him. What had he done to make her cry? Dread poured through him. These were not tears of joyful acceptance.
She sniffed, shaking her head. “No. I will not marry you.”
He cupped the side of her face, pulling her eyes to his. “You do not mean that.”
Her eyes flashed with hesitation before hardening. “I do.”
“Grace,” he wiped away another tear that fell on her soft cheek, wetting her lashes.
She pushed him away, taking several steps back. “Do not try to convince me otherwise. I know you do not care for me as you pretend to. You have lied to me enough.”
He filled the space she had created, frustration rising within him. “I do not understand.”
“I am finished being fooled by you. My mind cannot be changed.”
“Nor can mine.” He tipped his head down. “I chose you. I chose you the moment I saw you in the woods. At that time, I confess I chose you because I was desperate to find a wife, and I was short on time. After you refused me, I continued to pursue you because of my pride. I could not bear being rejected again. But,” he touched her arms gently, turning her toward him. “as I came to know you… I came to realize that if I lost you it would be more than my pride that would be bruised. You are bold, spirited, determined, and you are unafraid of your own voice—you speak what you wish.” He brushed back a strand of hair that stuck to her wet cheek. “You are beautiful in every way.”
She stared at the ground, wrapping her shawl tighter. “You are right. I do speak what I wish, and I will do so now,” she said in a quiet voice. “I wish to never see you again. I wish that you had never passed me in the woods, and that you had never asked me to marry you.” She looked up, the fierceness in her eyes forcing Edward back a step. Her voice hardened. “I would lose a thousand wagers before I would be foolish enough to believe you, and foolish enough to marry you.” She turned around again.
He felt as if he had been struck squarely in the chest. Her words hung between them, taut with misunderstanding. Why had he allowed himself to care for her? Had he not learned his lesson the last time he risked his heart for a woman? Pain spread through his limbs like fire, coursing through his veins. He meant to offer an angry rebuke, but all he felt was emptiness.
Cold emptiness.
He swallowed hard, forcing his emotions to a safer place. Without speaking another word, he retreated from her, his throat burning. The first time she had rejected him his pride had stung for days. His pride was unaffected this time, relaying the burden of her rejection to every other part of him instead.
He tossed the book of sonnets beside the roses on the grass, turning his back to her. What had happened to make her so upset? He could think of nothing. Just the day before they had parted ways in good standing.
He passed the Weston’s gardens, coming upon a large, overgrown bush.
A distant gasp hit his ears from behind, and he turned. Where he stood hidden from view by the large bushes, Mrs. Weston did not see him as she approached her daughter with hurried steps. Her voice, loud and shrill, sounded very similar to Grace’s voice when she had first been vying for his proposal. “Grace! How dare you reject him again?”
Edward stepped farther behind the bush, keeping himself hidden as he listened.
“Mama—you do not understand.”
“No, it is you who does not understand. Lord Ramsbury is soon to inherit Clemsworth and a series of smaller estates in Yorkshire. Do you realize how much property will be in his possession? And his wealth is beyond any man in Brighton. I thought I explained our situation to you in terms that you could understand. You must marry as soon as you are able, and to a man that will provide you with an adequate living. Lord Ramsbury’s holdings are more than adequate. We simply cannot sustain you and Harriett for much longer.”
“I know, Mama.”
“Then why, pray tell, did you refuse him?”
“I will not marry a man that does not truly love me.”
Edward grumbled, stopping himself from marching out from the bush to deny her statement.
“If he doesn’t love you then what reason could he possibly have for proposing?”
“He is being forced to marry by his father in order to keep his inheritance.”
Her mother scoffed. “But the laws of primogeniture cannot be so easily surpassed. I have scarcely heard of such a thing.”
“It is true.”
“Then you must catch him while he is so desperate! The opportunity will pass you by. He has still chosen you.”
“He is amusing himself with me until another woman accepts his hand. He does not love me.”
A long sigh. “It is the books again, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“You have been reading again. My dear, those are fictional stories. Love is a novelty in marriage, a rare treasure, but few ever find it. There are more important matters to consider. Here you have a man of considerable wealth that has asked you a second time to marry him. You are to find Lord Ramsbury at once and revoke your rejection.”
“I cannot.” Her voice came out weaker, as if she were considering it.
“Please, Grace. It is your father’s dearest wish to have to provided for. Think of the wealth and prestige of a countess. And thi
nk of how envious cousin Prudence will be.”
An extended moment of hesitation followed, and the dread in Edward’s stomach grew. All his life he had been desired for his possessions. He thought Grace would be different. If she accepted him now, it would only be for his holdings, not his heart. He pushed back the sorrow that threatened to envelop him. Why had he expected anything more?
“I will—I will consider it.”
“Very well. Good heavens, child. I thought Harriett to be the most difficult to manage, but you have surpassed her.”
Silence followed, telling Edward that Mrs. Weston had traveled back to the house.
He steadied his breathing and tightened his jaw. There had been a time that Edward thought of marriage as nothing more than a business settlement. But the idea of that now filled him with unending trepidation. Business was meant to deal with money, marriage was not. Marriage was meant to deal with love. But such were the ways of society, that the latter was a rarity.
However, since meeting Grace, he had begun to share her sentiments on the idea of marriage. He would not marry someone that did not love him. He couldn’t bear the thought of marrying her, of loving her, only to know that she loved his wealth more.
But soon his father would be dead, and he would be without wealth, and without Grace. He choked on a surge of grief, curling his fists as he walked back to Clemsworth. She had already told him she never wished to see him again. And he would certainly not make an effort to see her only to offer his possessions. But which fate was worse? A life with his inheritance and a fortune-hunter wife, or a life with nothing?
He would not give her the opportunity to find him today, to revoke her rejection. She had already made her decision.
Chapter 14
Watching her mother’s retreating form, Grace wrapped her arms around herself, raw emotion clutching at her throat. How could she do as her mother said? How could she agree to marry Edward after knowing what Miss Darby had revealed to her? Grace could not forget the look of seriousness in her mother’s eyes when she had discussed her need to marry well. Was her mother right? Was Grace a fool not to take such an offer? If she could remove her heart from the situation it would be much easier. But it was too late for that.
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